Monday, December 11, 2006

Why? (Or do I really have to ask?)

Matt Damon seems to be responding to the news from Wesley Morris

"Here's a shock," Wesley Morris, the Globe's witty-but-superficial movie second-stringer informs us in today's paper: "The Departed, Martin Scorsese's hit about Boston mobsters and the cops they corrupt, was a hit with the Boston Society of Film Critics, too. The thriller was voted best picture, and the society named Scorsese best director and William Monahan's adaptation of a Hong Kong cat-and-mouse tale best screenplay."

Morris doesn't tell us who's actually IN the Boston Society of Film Critics, but I suppose it's the usual list of suspects from the Globe, Phoenix and Herald. And looking over the history of their award, it's clear they haven't done so badly in the past (Brokeback Mountain, Sideways, The Pianist . . .) But really - was the hometown buzz of The Departed enough to banish ALL thought of its many flaws? Was it really a better movie than Little Children, Shortbus, or even Little Miss Sunshine? I suppose the Scorsese award is just one more attempt to give the guy the recognition he was due in the seventies (but no longer merits) - but how, exactly can you justify giving Best Supporting Actor to Mark Wahlberg? Or best screenplay to William Monahan? The mind continues to boggle.

A quick addendum: And why, exactly, does the Boston Society of Film Critics have a "foreign film" category (the award this year apparently went to Pan's Labyrinth, which I haven't seen). I understand why the Oscars hold on to that anachronism - they are, in the end, a marketing tool for Hollywood. But why would a film critics' society maintain the fiction that Hollywood cinema should be held to a different (i.e., lower) standard than world cinema (except, perhaps, to participate vicariously in "Oscar buzz")?

You can agree or disagree with our choices. I don't always agree myself. But do try to get the facts straight.

Not all members write for the Globe, Phoenix or Herald. Among us are reviewers for the Worcester Telegram and Gazette, WBZ, The Weekly Dig, NECN, the Patriot Ledger, Bay Windows, WBUR, the Cambridge Chronicle, and the MetroWest Daily News.

And we make no apologies for selected "The Departed" which was chosen on its merits, and not because it was based locally.

As for Mark Wahlberg, I'll let others speak for themselves, but I found his performance frequently blew everyone else off the screen. He was my first choice and I was pleased to see so many of my colleagues agreed, given how often we don't.

Hey, I googled you, I used zoominfo - nada; no member list; no phone number; nothing. Get a web site, honey! What, you think I'm going to call Wesley Morris and say, "Hi, Wesley, would you tell me who's in your club before I tear it apart on my blog?"

As for "making no apologies" - hey, I'd just balls it out, too, if I were you. Mr. Ys has it right - Scorsese hardly seems engaged through much of the picture, and William Monahan's screenplay is gritty but thin. The "Goodfellas" soundtrack doesn't help much - nor does watching Jack Nicholson reprise his Joker schtick for the umpteenth time. But then how can you argue with someone who thinks Mark Wahlberg "blew everyone off the screen"? All I can say is the movie blew, all right.

Hmmm. "Balls it out"? Is that a legitimate grammatical construction? What would Steven Pinker say? Still, "ball it out" sounds odd. Perhaps I should have said, "Hey, I'd just go balls out on this too, if I were you." My apologies for the error.

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A local reviewer since 2003, I was cast from my perch at the Boston Globe several years ago, but quickly learned I could write about my hometown's culture with more freedom and accuracy on the Web than I ever could at the Globe. And as local reviews grow ever more watered-down (and the press grows more and more desperate to hang onto advertising), it has become obvious this town needs an independent, unfettered critic who's not interested in tossing softballs to the suburbs (or the academy), And I guess I'm just dumb enough to take the job. You can reach me with invites, praise, screeds, etc., at hubreview@hotmail.com.

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On not being paid for writing criticism

Writing for money [is], at bottom, the ruin of literature. It is only the man who writes absolutely for the sake of the subject that writes anything worth writing . . . The best works of great men all come from the time when they had to write either for nothing or for very little pay.

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Blogs of Note

You know I get free tickets, right?

Some bloggers have been huffing and puffing over a new FTC regulation that requires disclosure of freebies. The rule doesn't bother me much in principle (as many bloggers are, indeed, fundamentally dishonest) and I guess technically it extends to press tickets - so can I just use this space as a blanket declaration of the fact that, in case you didn't know, I get free tickets to much of what I review.

Ah - but not all. Thanks to the efforts of Kati Mitchell at the ironically-titled ART and Company One's Shawn LaCount in 2011 (over my rather provocative honesty regarding the moral and aesthetic lapses of people like Diane Paulus), I'll be paying for more shows. I'll try not to let that make a difference in my reviews . . . but it could be hard . . . .

Look out! She's right behind you!

Attack of the Cell Phone Zombie!

Ah, the cell phone! Did the performing arts ever encounter a more baleful enemy? We've all had our encounters with crass texters, or those who've "forgotten" to turn off their cells or pagers, but I've never come across someone who actually made a call during a performance until this weekend. At Dawn Upshaw's recent concert (which was wonderful, btw), some old bag in a designer suit took out her cell just as Dawn was launching into her final encore, and yes, made a call. To her limo driver, no less, telling him she wanted to be picked up NOW. Let's just say I'd never encountered till yesterday a Schubert lieder that included the lyrics, "JORDAN HALL, Louie. Yes. She's almost finished, I wanna leave now!" Cell phones are a pet peeve of my partner's, and when the audience began applauding, he turned around and let the old bag have it. "You should be banned from concert halls for the rest of your life!" he screamed, while I mentally added, "Which we hope is short!" But the rich old bitch began shouting back, believe it or not. You just can't reach some people. We saw her limo on the way out. If there had been some rocks handy, we would have stoned it.